


we dance naked under the full moon

by wonnietv (heoneybee)



Category: K-pop, Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Bed-sharing, Fantasy, Kihyungwon, Light Angst, M/M, Nudity, Slow Burn, Witch AU, Witch Hyungwon, kiho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-10-25 07:13:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17720564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heoneybee/pseuds/wonnietv
Summary: something forces kihyun to travel back to the small village he grew up in. he hopes to catch a break; from life, from work, but the some things keep accumulating and don't stop happening and eventually kihyun has to face the ghosts of his past — and the one that seems to be so adamant to become a part of his future.





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> this is gonna be a slow and weird journey so sit tight

**** the train kihyun is sitting on has been rattling in the same rhythm for the last five hours and the only reason it hasn’t managed to lull him into a short and doubtlessly uncomfortable nap is the sun that’s still blazing against his forehead. 

 

his journey started early that morning. he had gotten the ticket weeks ago, after the conversation he had with his father during which he promised that, by the first of june, he would be on his way. it felt surprisingly easy to walk out of his apartment that morning, as if it were just another day; yet another morning when he left for his office and returned late in the evening. except that it wasn’t and except that he wouldn’t. 

 

he left his apartment spotlessly clean and left a note on the table specifying which flowers had to be watered and how often. hyunwoo could take care of a goldfish so kihyun decided to trust him with his plants. he recalls closing and locking the door with a finality, hovering for a second to ponder if he had packed everything before simply turning to leave. 

 

when his father had asked how long kihyun would stay, he offhandedly remarked ‘just for the summer, just to help out a bit.’ it was a change of scenery that hyunwoo insisted would do him good, even though kihyun would have rather travelled to japan for a vacation. 

 

the town his family lives in can only be described as rural and as the train continues to rock and rattle him in his seat, kihyun squints at the scenery passing by. they’re still about an hour and a half away from his stop, but the skyscrapers and highways are long gone and in their stead, all kihyun can see are endless fields of sunflowers. their yellow is too bright and doesn’t help the pounding kihyun feels right behind his left eye. 

 

he sighs and shifts and checks his rolex. 5.47pm. he’s been in a suit all day, which usually isn’t a problem, but the stifling heat inside his compartment and the relentless sun had left wrinkles on his perfectly ironed shirt. 

 

it’s not a problem, he tells himself, pulls out his phone to check for new mails. ( there’s about thirty since early this morning on his work email address. there’s one from hoseok that he promises to read once he’s gotten into bed later and eight missed calls — two of which are from his father. ) it’s not a problem, kihyun thinks again, that he’s uncomfortably hot and his back is aching from sitting in the same position all day. his left leg has fallen asleep, trapped between the barely cushioned seat and his right leg folded over it. his father asked for his help and kihyun, being the only son, has to travel and help him out. it’s really not a problem; it probably hasn’t been easy on his father after his mother passed. kihyun isn’t sure, he never found the time to check in. 

 

but he remembers the last time he travelled home — in his company paid porsche, not a train — and remembers the white noise that filled his ears during the funeral. he thinks he saw his father cry, but at this point he isn’t sure. there was a project due the week after, a few reports to write and kihyun had taken his work laptop with him, stayed up all night to write over fifty pages of a business plan. 

 

he was tired then and he is tired now, so it’s really not a problem. 

 

kihyun sighs and checks his phone again. the battery has been full for three hours, but he has yet to disconnect it from the charger. his father promised to pick him up from the train station and kihyun knows that it will take them almost forty minutes to drive to his house. if he can’t get away and to the guest room to unpack, it might be hours until he can charge it again. kihyun has planned to go out in the evening and he had to be reachable at all times, no matter how late it gets. 

 

he exhales and pushes his fingers through his slicked back hair. the sunflowers have shifted to fields of wheat, with large fruit trees growing along the road every now and then. kihyun resists the urge to message hyunwoo and ask if he found the note about his plants. 

 

the door to his compartment opens, causing kihyun to look up and meet the pleasant smile of a woman. she has long, silky hair and seems about his age, maybe mid thirties. 

 

“may i sit?” she asks, polite and soft. 

 

“of course,” kihyun replies and smiles when she does. he straightens his back and reaches for his watch out of habit. a quick glance down to his wrist and he hasn’t even registered the time as the woman sits opposite him. she places her bag next to her, not on her lap, and her pretty hands call for kihyun’s attention with nothing more than a flick of dark hair over her shoulder. 

 

“by the size of your bag i would guess you’re not travelling very far,” he says softly and watches the woman’s mouth turn into a perfect o shape, her hand brushing over her bag in a subconscious motion.

 

“no, i’m only travelling to the next stop. there’s a festival in town, a lot of people are going there. i guess that’s why most of the compartments are full.” she smiles, laughs tender and sweet. her dialect is heavy, but charming. she’s pretty.

“what about you?” her question doesn’t come as a surprise and kihyun sees her eyes shift to his heavy suitcase that’s stored above his seat and the large bag next to him. “you don’t sound like you’re a local.” 

 

kihyun laughs at what she says; he laughs in the way people laugh when they’re charmed, or trying to come across as charming. the soft polite laugh that shows his dimples and means he’s flirting because the situation arose, without any expectations. she’ll leave at the next stop and kihyun will continue his path, but for now she helps him to stop thinking so he laughs — briefly. 

“yeah, i’m from quite far away. i’ve been on this train since this morning and i still have an hour and a bit to go.” 

 

“well, going by your luggage i’m assuming you’re planning to stay a bit longer.” she pauses and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “the festival is still going to last two more days, you should come visit it if you have the time.”

 

kihyun wants to say that he doesn’t. the words are on the tip of his tongue and die out as quickly as the old habit sparked. he has the time now. now that he’s not back home and going to spend an unclear amount of time wasting away in a tiny town he fought so hard to get away from. but it’s not a problem — really. 

 

“i’ll definitely come if i have the time,” he finally settles on. 

 

he imagines seeing her again there; she’s pretty and her lips look plush and kissable, so kihyun thinks of seeing her again. it takes his mind away from the white noise and the empty house and his father’s hunched back and the plants he left behind and hoseok’s email and the thirty emails that need to be replied to. he thinks about the festival and the lanterns and fireflies that no doubt fill the evening sky. it’s warm enough for him to only wear a shirt and for her to put on a summer dress. he thinks about resting his hand between her shoulder blades and kissing the back of her delicate hand and the soft curves of her cheeks. 

 

the woman whose name he doesn’t care to ask smiles and opens her mouth to speak and her phone starts to ring. 

 

the first word that leave her smiling lips when she picks up is ‘ _honey_.’

 

kihyun looks away and catches sight of the field of sunflowers that’s returned once more. he really should message hyunwoo by tonight and ask about his plants. 

 

the woman continues to speak but he tunes her out, reaches for his phone and leans back in his seat. pulling the notification window down from the top of the screen, he checks the previews of the emails he got. work, he scans over. they all amount to more or less the same and kihyun is aware that he promised to help out his successor, but hyunwoo said he doesn’t think it’s good for him. hyunwoo has been saying that a lot.

 

his attention is caught by hoseok’s email. his eyes are glued to his name and the casual greeting it starts with. he hasn’t seen hoseok in months, but he probably heard what happened — perhaps from hyunwoo. if his mail is anything like they used to be, then it’s lengthy and full of emotions kihyun doesn’t want to deal with. hoseok has always been easy to listen to — with the pretty smile and the pretty mouth and perfect rows of teeth — but his written words are hard to deal with. kihyun dreads dealing with the hidden implications he could find in them. 

 

he locks his phone again and looks up when he sees the woman opposite him stand up. a glance out of the window tells him that the station is approaching and although she’s still at the phone, she turns to flash him a smile. he smiles back, softer this time, a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. she laughs at something the voice mumbling through the speaker of her phone says and her eyes sparkle like diamonds. 

 

she looks happy.

 

kihyun briefly thinks of how he’d now rather be in his office, bent over his laptop with bloodshot eyes and the coffee acid gnawing at his stomach. he wasn’t happy then, but happiness has been fleeting as long as he can remember. as a child he took it for granted, that much he can recall. but then he started growing older and things started to become a blur. everyone always told him he is a smart one, meant for great things. no one had bothered to tell him that great things came at a great price. 

 

the sun is still merciless and still hitting the top of his head. it reminds him of those days during summer holidays when his father and him would go to the lake to fish, early in the morning. the fishing rod was much longer than kihyun was tall, but that didn’t stop him from trying to throw the lure as far as possible. he was surrounded by noise then; not white noise, but birds and cicadas and the buzz of forest life in summer. mosquitos came for his blood and the sun burned the skin on his nape and arms, but kihyun didn’t care. his mother would always ruffle his hair when he and his father carried home a bucket of fish. she complimented his skills and asked if his father helped out as well or if it was all him. 

 

kihyun remembers laughing bright back then; now he can’t remember her face anymore. 

 

the memories have gathered like a stack of old pictures in washed out sepia tones. if kihyun squints his eyes and holds them against the light, he can tell apart their frayed edges. if not, they’re simply a weight. one more thing to weigh him down, one more thing he carries around in his head that tires him out. 

 

he presses his fingers into his eyes, fully knowing that the pounding won’t stop, and exhales through his nose. 

 

the train has stopped and his attention returns to the window in time to see the woman get out of the train and walk in the opposite direction, still on her phone. 

 

when kihyun was twelve, he fell in love for the first time. it was love as deep as any twelve-year-old who had his head full of clouds and dreams could fall. bora, he recalls is her name. she was the neighbours’ daughter and she made the road to and back from school that much sweeter by simply being there and letting kihyun accompany her to her house. it was small, but not as old fashioned as kihyun’s. her parents were young and built their home from scratch. 

 

a part of kihyun — the part that used to stand at the gate of her house and stare at the perfectly painted walls and neatly planted flowers — envied her. 

 

another part — the one that was told time and time again that he’s a smart boy, that he’s a special boy, that he was meant for great things — knew he wouldn’t stay where his parents are, but that he would end up in the big city. 

 

when kihyun was still in university and went to visit his parents during winter break, he passed by her house only to find it empty. the walls weren’t perfectly painted anymore and all the beautiful plants that once used to grow in a line next to the pavement were dead. he doesn’t know what happened to her, or her family, but standing in front of the house and a life he didn’t know but once envied, after he made it out of the tiny town and into the big city, he didn’t feel the satisfaction he once thought he would. 

 

leaning his head against the train’s window, he blindly searches for his phone. he unlocks and locks it twice, out of habit, before simply placing it in his lap and closing his eyes. 

 

*

 

the train finally comes to a stop for him an hour later. kihyun managed to catch that expectantly uncomfortable nap he has been trying to avoid and it has done nothing to help him. his mouth feels dry and his skin feels oily. the bag he has slung over his shoulder is heavy and together with the suitcase he is pulling behind himself, kihyun feels burdened in every way possible.

 

the train station is empty and deserted. everything looks and smells and feels exactly the same way it did when he left it as a high school graduate. kihyun walks past the gate where the old ticket machine is still somehow beeping and blinking with a functioning screen at him; the walls he walks past are chipped and filled with graffiti.

 

the parking spots right outside the train station are almost completely empty. in the second to last spot on the right side, his father is parked. he sits in his toyota that has seen better days, the windows cranked down and reading the paper, with his glasses balancing on the tip of his nose.

 

kihyun looks at his watch again. it’s 7.13pm and the stifling heat of summer hasn’t lessened in the slightest. the shirt collar around his neck feels too tight, the fabric is stuck to his lower back where sweat and anxiety have pooled and gathered. 

 

his father looks up when kihyun opens the backdoor and tosses his bag and suitcase into the car. it must feel uncomfortable for him too. kihyun can’t even describe where his discomfort comes from but he knows it’s there. like ill fitted skin and the knowledge that he doesn’t belong. he really would much rather have been stuck at work till late at night than in his father’s car, but he promised. _by the first of june_ — kihyun promised. today is friday the 13th. 

 

he gets into the car and closes the door with an unintentionally loud thud. his father has folded the newspaper in his lap and turned to kihyun with a tight-lipped smile, tired eyes peeking at kihyun over the rim of his glasses. 

 

“welcome back, son,” the old man says. for a moment kihyun feels lost and out of control. the experience feels oddly out of body and a second later it’s gone and replaced with reminders of all the things he planned to do and respond to. his schedule is tightly filled with responsibilities. 

 

“did you wait long?” he asks and reaches up to undo the first button of his shirt. 

 

“not too long,” the old man replies and starts the car. kihyun looks at his tan, scarred arms; unintentional, before turning to face the passenger seat window. he’s become very good at pretending to be particularly interested in everything but the people he should give attention to.

 

the journey home is long and tedious and somehow manages to feel longer and more tedious than the whole train ride. kihyun’s head is still pounding, he feels nauseous and restless. the road is uneven, with cracks large enough for kihyun to feel them when the car passes over them and bounces him in its seat. the town has stayed the same as it was when he left it 14 years ago. small and old fashioned. barely any young people seem to walk the small pavements along the street and the old faces kihyun sees all look vaguely familiar. 

 

hyunwoo said that going home might fill him with a sense of comfort and intimate familiarity he would never be able to feel in the big city, but seeing all buildings and roads look so familiar, kihyun only feels strange. a stranger in his hometown. he doesn’t notice that he’s restlessly pressing the home button of his phone until his father clears his throat and speaks up again. 

 

“so, how was the journey? everything went alright?”

 

“it was okay,” kihyun replies, curt. 

 

a brief pause follows before: “i was surprised to hear you’re coming by train instead of your car. it’s quite a long drive,” the old man comments. his voice is soft and rough, the way old people’s voices become when speaking takes effort and every word is carefully spoken. like they think it could be their last. kihyun hears all of those unspoken worries and emotions, but can’t bring himself to feel anything but subtle annoyance. 

 

at himself. at the situation. at the town that didn’t change a single bit even though he’s come back as a completely different person. he bites his tongue and remains silent, unlocks his phone and stares at the screen instead.

 

“i don’t know if you’re hungry, but the grandma that lives down the main street — you remember? the one that always made the best kimchi jjigae. she made some food and brought it over today, after lunch. she said she heard my son is coming home and we all know i can’t cook.” his father laughs. it’s a hollow sound. kihyun doesn’t know whether to pity him or feel sad. 

 

“i was actually planning to go out this evening,” kihyun replies and turns to face the street. “i have some things i want to take care of, so please don’t wait up for me.” there’s the heavy silence again. something in kihyun burns; suppressed emotions and words and the frayed edges of memories that feel similar to all the coffee acid that burned the walls of his stomach for years. his phone vibrates in his hand and kihyun goes to unlock it immediately, goes to check the notification. 

 

the car remains silent the rest of the way. 

 

*

 

his old room looks exactly the same as the last time he saw it. the old house looks the same as when kihyun was a child. everything is the same and nothing changed except everything changed and nothing about him is the same as before. he walks with careful and slow steps; not because he’s weary or nervous but out of sheer cautiousness not to rouse ghosts and memories he wants to keep buried. 

 

his father helps him carry his bag. kihyun pulls the loaded suitcase behind him and tries not to eye the thick layer of dust that seems to have collected on every bit of furniture. his father places his bag onto the carpet in front of his bed, careful. he mumbles about having to tend the backyard still and leaves the room, leaves the door open. kihyun knows it’s an open invitation to join and turns away. he picks up the bag only to throw it onto the bed and opens the suitcase only to stare at it. 

 

dust and spiderwebs collected on every surface of his room. a grey veil, a film that settled over rosewood frames. his walls are clean of posters, only the old pictures kihyun used to take still hang in their cheap frames. the camera he once used is bound to be on one of the shelves. 

 

kihyun stands in the middle of the room, surrounded by stifling silence and, in that moment, he feels helpless. his head seems to grow louder with the void of the steady rattling of the train and the muffled voices of far away passengers. his thoughts jumble together and tumble over one another. 

 

the pounding in his temples grows worse so kihyun starts to clean. 

 

it’s almost 6.45pm when kihyun walks through the backdoor and into the backyard. the sun isn’t blazing down on him anymore, but it’s as bright as it was this morning when he set out for the train. 

 

the countryside is loud in a way the city isn’t. there’s crows flying over his head, the chickens causing a stir in the cot next to the house. the neighbour’s cows obnoxious mooing does nothing to soothe the pounding in his temples. kihyun wets his chapped lips and tries to think about the last time he drank something. he clasps his hands together at the wrists and fiddles with his watch.

 

the porch in the backyard is old, wooden. it creaks with every step he takes until he steps onto a dirt path that leads to a small field. his father is bent over it, hunched back and tan arms. sweat is collecting on his forehead and nape; kihyun watches him pull a tattered and grey handkerchief out of his back pocket and dab at it.

 

this is the life kihyun has tried to escape since he was young. the repetitive circle of the blazing sun and the stifling nights with nothing to do than tend the fields and cattle. it’s uncomfortably hot, yet his father works away unabashed, for a sum so minuscule kihyun earns it in a day. 

 

when he moved he told himself he’s meant for great things, he’s going to be his parents’ hero. the one who brings home money and riches. he’ll buy them a car and an apartment in the city and they can move and have a good life. they can have the life they all deserve. 

 

somewhere between that wish and reality there is a vast, void space of disconnect and kihyun can’t explain what it’s filled with. 

 

he watches his father work. he watches his arms lift above his head as he plows the fields without a pause. he watches and he pities him. 

 

but then kihyun turns away and walks back into the house. when the door closes softly behind his back, it feels perfectly representative of the wall that’s somehow somewhere raised between him and his father. 

 

he walks back into the house and into the living room. there’s a large bookcase on the wall opposite the television. an old clock is ticking loudly from above the door. the bookcase once used to be filled with books; the encyclopaedia and history books he read as a child and teen and the novellas his mother loved to read. when kihyun moved, his books were stored away into the attic. he supposed after his mother passed the same was done to her novellas. 

 

what’s left on the bookcase now are old pictures. kihyun’s own smiling face greets him, his mother standing behind him and her arms wound around his shoulders. they looked happy then. kihyun can’t pinpoint when that changed. 

 

there’s older pictures still; from his parents on their wedding day, young and bright. here are pictures of his father in the military. here are pictures of his mother with the dog they once had — it died when kihyun was very young. here are memories that fill this place, same as the dust that’s collecting and all of it feels like a burden. it’s too heavy. along with the white noise in his head and the signs of life on the countryside it’s all too loud. the ticking of the clock started to feel like a hammer that’s beating against his temples and kihyun feels the suffocating pressure make his chest contract and hurt. 

 

the pressure doesn’t ease so he goes to shower. to drown everything out. 

 

it’s 7.17pm when he gets changed and finally walks out of the house. 

 

*

 

summer days last forever. kihyun eyes the orange and pink glow of the sky as he walks next to the paved streets. he’s walking on the road, close enough to feel the dried weed scrap at his ankles and pant suit. between the paved street and greenery that grows next to it is a small, dusty path that kihyun decided to take. the dust catches on his leather shoes and turns the corners grey. he eyes them with disdain and digs his toes deeper into the soil. 

 

annoyance marks his every step. it’s clear in his square and taut posture, his square frame. the annoyance hasn’t left him in years and he’s not sure if he still knows how to walk any other way anymore. somehow there always seems to be something bubbling and boiling just beneath his skin.

 

( when kihyun was young, these streets used to have children playing hide and seek. when kihyun was young, he used to be one of those children; he used to hide in the pine trees and between the bushes on random people’s properties. it strikes him as suffocating now, how everyone knows everyone in a town so small. )

 

he passes by old people on bicycles, a run-down grocery store with fruit in the front and flies and wasps swarming above them. people stare. he looks out of place and feels out of place. his roots have been burned by him personally many years ago and the consequences of those actions show very clearly now. 

 

the village center is almost deserted and located right in the middle of the village. there’s not much to it, aside from an old church, a primary school, and what was once a hospital. the school is closed for the summer, but when kihyun walks past the hospital he tries to peer through the windows and finds nothing but empty and dark rooms. the pharmacy that’s attached to it seems closed as well, but not empty. there’s a pub right across the street from it and it’s were kihyun is headed. two old men are sitting on folding chairs right in front of it, a wobbly and rusty table in front of them, with an old chessboard on top of it. they seem deep in thought and only one of them looks up when kihyun passes by. 

 

the inside of the pub is dark when kihyun walks through the open door. the stench of beer and smoke doesn’t greet him, it rather ties around his neck like a noose that does nothing but squeeze and choke. the phone in his pocket hasn’t vibrated since he left the house, but kihyun still fishes for it once he feels multiple sets of eyes on him. he unlocks and locks it. restless. checks his watch and pockets it again. the pressure in his chest returns when he heads for the bar and sits down on one of the stools. 

 

yoo kihyun met lee minhyuk when they were both seven. he remembers this clearly because it was just weeks after his birthday and minhyuk had stepped on his new, white all stars. made the pristine fabric grey. it was the first time that something had burned so vividly and unhinged in his body that the next thing kihyun knew was that a teacher had to forcefully separate them and his nose was throbbing, bleeding. minhyuk’s cheek was red and starting to swell as they both sat in front of the headmaster with their parents standing behind them. he doesn’t remember what was being said but remembers glaring at minhyuk through unshed tears because the shoes his parents saved money for were dirty and minhyuk had three pairs of converse so he didn’t understand. 

 

yoo kihyun meets lee minhyuk again now that he’s thirty-two and wearing handmade leather shoes with dirt on them that he didn’t care much for. minhyuk recognises him right away, kihyun can tell. his features are schooled and impassive as he wipes the rim of a soju glass, throws the towel over his shoulder and props his hands on the counter on the inside of the bar. 

 

the last time they saw each other was their last year of high school when minhyuk laughed and threw an arm around his shoulders and kihyun clung to his waist and promised to write letters and visit.

 

( a second later kihyun realises that he lied. the last time they saw each other was the funeral. )

 

“can i help you?” minhyuk’s voice is hoarse and the smile lines around his mouth make him look aged and stiff with the tight-lipped grin he forced on his face. kihyun taps a finger against the counter and fishes for his phone again, looks at the screen just to avoid looking at minhyuk.

 

“a hennessy, please,” kihyun says, briefly looks up. the corner of minhyuk’s lip does that thing where it twitches, sharp. it’s his tell-tale sign of annoyance.

 

“this isn’t the big city, mister. we don’t have that kinda fancy shit here.” the mumble of conversation around them has ceased and kihyun‘s eyes return back to his watch, then his phone, and finally he opens his mail. 

 

“then give me whatever strong alcohol you do have.” he doesn’t make the mistake of looking up or allowing anyone to know that his ears are drumming and hands clammy with discomfort. no other word comes out of minhyuk and before kihyun is more than two paragraphs into his first email, a soju glass is placed in front of him with a loud thud, spilling some of the clear liquid around the small glass. the bottle that’s placed next to it receives a much gentler treatment and kihyun simple restarts reading the email. 

 

it’s 8pm when he finally starts to drink. 

 

hoseok’s email has been strictly avoided. looking at it makes kihyun’s stomach churn. his eyes skim the greeting in the preview and he hears hoseok’s voice before he moves the email into his ‘private’ folder and chugs the first glass of soju. 

 

( kihyun is stupid and twenty-three when he meets hoseok. he’s stupid because he meets hoseok and bites the inside of his lip to not return that contagious smile. he’s stupid because hoseok stupidly enough reminds him of home and something long lost, something warm and safe. kihyun is an idiot because hoseok is hoseok and everything about him is overwhelming and kihyun needs it but doesn’t want it. ) 

 

he pours himself another glass and reminds himself that he compartmentalises; his emails, his feelings, his life. 

 

he downs the third glass of soju and feels his shoulders relax and fingertips tingle. 

 

it’s then that minhyuk opens his mouth again. 

 

“you know that i remember who you are, right?” 

 

“i know.”

 

in the silence that follows kihyun looks up from his phone and meets minhyuk’s eyes. they’ve always had a sharp quality to them; like broken edges of a glass bottle. right in this moment, they feel like they’re cutting into his very flesh. 

 

“hah,” minhyuk scoffs, nods his head. “funny. i was sure you’ve forgotten us all now that you’re this big thing in the big city. shirt up to your chin and stick so far up your ass i’m surprised you can bend at the waist.” 

it’s all an attempt to rile him up, but whatever bubbles and boils beneath his skin never stops. it’s slightly numb now that kihyun has had a few glasses of soju. his mind still feels clear enough to make him aware that he’s not drunk yet and he decides not to take the bait. kihyun pours himself another glass and remains silent. the silence doesn’t seem to hinder minhyuk who shifts on his feet and throws his towel noisily onto the counter. 

“you know, the kihyun i knew wasn’t like this. the kihyun i knew used to give two shits about people and didn’t just walk around like an emotionless zombie. the kihyun i—”

 

“yeah, well. people change,” he interrupts. 

 

“you didn’t just change,” minhyuk starts, his voice barely above a hiss. “you fucking died.” 

 

*

 

when kihyun empties two bottles and walks out of the pub it’s already dark. a look at his phone tells him that it’s past 10pm. the moon hangs round and heavy in front of quickly moving and looming clouds. there’s tension in the air and in every single one of his muscles. he feels antsy and leaden at the same time. he sent hyunwoo six or seven panicked messages, reminding him to look after his plants and asking him if he looked after his plants. he drafted a message to hoseok he didn’t send out. he drafted 5 work related emails he has to read over once his head clears up. 

 

he and minhyuk didn’t talk any more and kihyun pretends like each and every one of his words had no effect on him when once upon a time he considered the man his friend. they were as different as day and night, yet no one knew him better than minhyuk. he knew about his unrealistic dreams and his bitter realities. somewhere along the line life happened and now they’re no more than strangers.

 

the street lamps in the village center and in the streets that branch from it are far and few between. the night settles over earth much thicker than it does in the city. heavy, dark with bright, illuminating specks of stars. kihyun loosens the first button of his shirt and runs his fingers through his hair. his head is a muddled knot of voices and thoughts that crash together. they must crash and burn, he thinks and brushes a hand over his heated face, cheeks pink. 

 

a bit off the city centre, on the opposite site of the street he took when he walked there this afternoon, is a peculiar looking hut. kihyun stops in front of it, eyes the lantern that hangs above the door and the sign with a moon crest. it’s neither a frequent nor a rare sight in the big city, but kihyun wonders how one of them ended up in a village this tiny. he squints and something behind the window flickers, dim and small, like a tiny flame. a shiver runs down his spine and he looks away and walks on. 

 

he’s tipsy enough to feel the effect of it in the way his knees wobble when he walks the cobblestone path as if it’s made of clouds, but something else prompts him to glance back over his shoulder just to keep an eye on that hut’s door. it doesn’t open and no one follows him, but the hairs on the back of his neck are standing on end, sticking together with sweat and late evening heat. his heart is palpating, restless, nervous. tension is gathering and kihyun feels it gather around his throat and turn his breathing laboured. he feels like he’s suffocating, but no matter how often he turns back, the hut looks unchanged.

 

it finally reaches a point of climax and disenthrall when a single cold drop hits his nape and slides down his spine. his hand shoots up to press against his nape, clammy, and a second later more drops follow. kihyun looks up at a sight dreamlike and very real at once. a grey cloud formed above his head, the rain falling from it cooling the heat in his cheeks and simultaneously soothing the thunder in his ears, the overwhelming white noise. the few clouds he’s seen just minutes ago, floating in front of the moon and striding towards an unfathomable direction without as much as a breeze now all seemed to come together and gather right above his head. he quickens his steps and feels the rain get heavier as the cloud grows thicker and larger, right above his head. he thinks to hear whispers, but no one is behind him and the houses he passes only have people stare at him through the window. their faces look apathetic and colder than the rain that’s soaked through his shirt and into his socks and shoes. every step he takes is accompanied by an uncomfortable squelching noise but the cloud is merciless and it follows him, dips and drops from the sky like a leak in a cracked ceiling. 

 

when he reaches his father’s house the dark grey has already pulled over the roof like a blanket. it’s wetting the quenched fields who suffered the dry summer days and when kihyun squints at the horizon and what’s behind the house, he can see his father’s broken figure still working on the field. a curse is on the tip of his tongue when he steps onto their property and feels his feet sink into soft mud. his shoes get stuck, white socks filled with soil. kihyun wants to stop only long enough to take them off and continue on barefoot, when a small, pitiful noise calls for his attention. 

 

he sees yellow eyes first, then movements, wiggly like those of a worm before the sound registers in his ears over the rushing sound of the rain. the kitten’s meows sound pitiful; tiny, black thing that blinks yellow eyes at him and seems to drown in the endlessly pouring rain that seems to target his father’s house. it’s happened a few times in the past, in the city, that kihyun walked a few blocks in the rain in his coat and always with an umbrella. those times he would hear the pitiful meows of tiny black cats, stuck in boxes and dumpsters in dark alleys. he ignored them then, knowing what black cats mean only few people would even dare approach one. yet, now kihyun stood unmoving with his toes sinking further into the warm soil and the cat still staring at him. he grabs it before he can think better of it, tucks it against his chest and keeps his body bend forward to shield it from the strong downpour of rain. it doesn’t wiggle or struggle, its body warm and small where it lies over kihyun’s palm. 

 

the door closes heavy and final behind him when kihyun finally reaches the house, heaving. his heart is thudding loudly and whatever alcohol he has consumed and whatever degree of intoxication he felt, almost all of it seemed to have been cleared away by the sudden downpour. when he peeks through the window next to the entrance he sees the clear night sky and bright stars in the distance, similar to sparkling diamonds, while the sky right above the house still remains grim. it’s then that he hears another meow and remembers the cat in his arms. kihyun looks down at the pitiful thing, with its fur stuck to its body with mud and wonders if he made the right choice. 

 

it’s 12.12am by the time kihyun is changed into his pyjamas and climbs into bed. the cat, now washed and dried and clean, nestles against his side while he pulls out his laptop and opens up his emails. its not sleeping, rather staring at the screen with eyes that look like the moon that broke through the clouds after an hour of heavy rain. 

 

he doesn’t think about it. 

 

not about the rain, not about the cat. 

 

the work emails he drafted while sitting in the bar are still waiting for him and kihyun tries to focus on finishing and sending them, despite the pitter-patter of remaining drops falling from the leaking rain gutter and the endless whispers of jittery thoughts in his ear. he hears his father move in the hallway, hears him finally go to bed, knowing fully well that by 5am he’ll be awake to start another day. 

 

At 12.48am he finishes the work-related emails and checks his phone. hyunwoo has sent one response to his multiple messages that includes a thumbs up emoji and ‘everything’s fine.’ it’s meant to be reassuring in the way hyunwoo just _is_ , but with all the distance between them and hyunwoo not actually being there, the usual effect is lost. kihyun sighs and places his phone next to him, then takes off his watch. he wants to sleep, but the feeling of time chasing him and slipping through his fingers like red sand never leaves, never will leave, so sleeping starts to feel like a bad idea. 

 

when the time on his laptop tells him it’s past 1am, kihyun knows it’s unavoidable that he moves to his ‘private’ folder. 

 

there’s multiple unread emails in there: from people that once thought he cared for them, people that still thinks he cares for them and one that he himself thinks he cares for. 

 

the subject of hoseok’s mail is a timid and tentative ‘hey…’. hoseok knows that the moment is bad, has probably heard enough from hyunwoo that made him feel like he had to mail, but not enough to know what to say and how much to worry. that has always been the problem with hoseok. it has always been kihyun’s problem with hoseok; he’s always been giving more and asking for more than kihyun was papered to return. 

 

( kihyun thinks about this village and the dark woods and that one cold winter morning and the memory seizes his heart and squeezes his chest in an iron fist. he closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the pillow he’s propped up on. )

 

hoseok has always been too much and kihyun will never be enough because by the time they met, when kihyun was twenty-three, he was still young and he was still stupid, but he was also already dying. 

 

when he opens his eyes again they fall onto the cat next to him that stares right back. he’s been avoiding touching it as much as possible, but the clingy thing refuses to move and in a single moment of weakness, kihyun reaches out and strokes careful fingers over its silky head. 

 

“tomorrow i’ll try to find a home for you. you can’t stay here with me, i’m the raven of his place already.” he whispers. the cat blinks once, doesn’t show any signs of having understood him before its tiny head faces kihyun’s laptop again. 

 

taking that as a sign to do the same, kihyun forces his attention to return back to hoseok’s letter. he starts to read.

 

_hey kihyun…_

_as you can probably guess, hyunwoo told me what happened at your job…_

 

he exhales loudly and closes his laptop before placing it on the ground next to the bed. tomorrow he’ll read the email, kihyun promises. 

 

he lies down and closes his eyes.

 

by the time he’s asleep it’s close to 3am. 


	2. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> welcome to a world where witching hour isn't only at 3am.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please please Please leave me feedback for this story bc it is So weird and it's really hard to gauge how ppl who are reading it may find it and i'm always really excited and curious abt any possible theories!!

**** kihyun opens his eyes to a place between dream and reality. 

 

sunlight falls through the wooden panels of his window and into his eyes. for a moment it leaves him dazed; he’s still stuck between dream and reality with shadows playing on the wall of his ceiling and the sound of his mother in the kitchen in his ear. he hears her call his name, telling him to hurry up and get ready for school. 

 

it’s a dream stuck in reality and the shadows above him turn to teeth and thorns and back to a straight line right where the panels in his window are. 

 

kihyun blinks and he is awake. 

 

the room around him is silent when he turns his head and stares at the blank walls. he grabs his phone, reads over the notifications on his lock screen — the earliest being from five in the morning. the time tells him it’s only 9am. there’s more emails from work. there’s a never-ending flow of them, kihyun doesn’t think he’ll ever escape his job, even with him not actually being employed anymore. there’s a short text from hyunwoo, nothing more than a thumbs up emoji, and two spam emails.

 

there’s no friends messaging him.

 

there’s no friends he has, aside from hyunwoo. ( there was hoseok once, but his email still goes unread and unanswered. )

 

when kihyun sits up and the soles of his feet touch the ground, he remembers the cat. no scrap of nails along wood board floors can be heard, no meow for attention or food or the door to be opened. there’s no sign of the animal, and when he slowly pads to the window and looks over the ground in front of the house it looks as parched and dry as the moment he arrived yesterday. the roof seems dry as well and kihyun swears, he _knows_ and he is sure he was running away from a cloud that was chasing him just last night. 

 

he thinks about the cat with eyes like two full moons and unlocks his phone to forget and get rid of the uncomfortable clenching of his stomach. he doesn’t know what’s going on. he doesn’t want to know. opening the first email, he moves to the bathroom to get ready. 

 

at half past 9am he’s dressed and walking through the kitchen and towards the backyard. through the small window above the sink he can see his father working the field, again. it’s still morning, but the sun is burning his neck and shoulders. kihyun stretches over the sink to open the window and shout ‘good morning’ across the backyard. his father doesn’t react and it takes one more, louder, shout for the old man to finally look up. kihyun sees him squint, then smile and wave. he returns the greeting with a shout of his own, then straightens up. his back had looked bent and hunched before and when he straightens up it’s with a pained face and a hand on his lower spine, pushing. kihyun feels an uncomfortable stretch in his calves and closes the window. he walks towards the back door and opens it, but doesn’t bother to step onto the porch yet. 

 

“i’m going to make breakfast, would you like some?” his father nods his head and smiles. he seems happier today. relieved, maybe. 

 

“thank you, my boy. i would have made some for us, but i got up extra early today to plow the ground. it was so dry before, it was hard to do, but after that rain last night, it’s soft like butter.” the old man laughs and sets one heavy foot after the other onto the porch. kihyun pretends not to have heard what he said.

the wood beneath his feet creaks and kihyun is pretty sure if his bones were exposed they would have made the very same sound. his father groans and huffs when he allows his body to fall into one of the old, wooden chairs next to the door. he’s close enough that the sour stench of sweat and harsh labour hits kihyun’s nose and makes him push his body away from the doorframe. 

 

“and it was quite the sight. it looked like you led it here.” he pauses and kihyun grits his teeth. “did you have an encounter again?”

 

“hm? no, nothing happened.” the cat is gone, everything except the field is dry, cracked soil. nothing happened. kihyun repeats it like a mantra: nothing happened. he takes another step back into the house and turns. “i’m going to start preparing breakfast.” 

 

*

 

kihyun enjoys cooking. always has. there’s precision in his movements that shows practiced skill and comfort, bent over the old gas stove. at home he had his clean, new kitchen counters and an induction stove and a gentle radio voice that speaks up every thirty minutes in between the soft melodies of violin and piano music.

 

now he hears cows, chickens; sounds of cattle and heavy, old tractors. his father is back on the field and kihyun almost cuts himself when he looks up to catch a glance of him. originally, his father asked kihyun to visit so he could help. initially, kihyun refused, the ‘no’ burned on the tip of his tongue like a heavy mark. acidic. but then the old man said please and something in his voice — in the tired, desperate sound — made kihyun change his mind. 

 

when he was packing, he wondered if his father was feeling unwell. when he looks at him now, he wonders if he just missed his son. 

 

something tickles the tip of his nose, pinches it and burns his eyes. kihyun stops chopping and watches his hands, trembling. he inhales a shaky breath and brushes the back of his hand across his eyes. straightening his back once, he resumes his cooking. 

 

*

 

they eat breakfast in complete silence. It’s half past 10am when kihyun walks out of the door and his father leaves for his room to rest. in his pocket is a list of groceries kihyun is supposed to get from the market on the other side of the town. his phone is a heavy responsibility that rests against his thigh, always turned on, always fully charged. 

 

the sun is especially cruel close to midday, with only dusty pathways and no tall buildings to provide shade. he doesn’t worry about his skin — he used to, just when he moved to the big city where the girls with lighter skin and faces that don’t match their necks laughed at him. it’s clear where he comes from, they’d say. the burn of summer and sun’s rays never faded and while it made him self-conscious in the beginning, back in his university days, kihyun has stopped minding it long ago. he rolls up his sleeves and exposes his forearms. the first button of his shirt is open, but he still feels the suffocating heat and squints at the lone street in front of him. it’s saturday morning and most people will probably be gathered at the market or at home, preparing lunch. 

 

kihyun turns the last corner that leads to the curved street, past the hut and towards the centre when he hears a tiny mewl and stops. the same black cat as last night sits waiting in front of his feet. it looks silky and graceful in daylight, eyes hauntingly beautiful. he glances at the hut that stands dark and unmoving, then back towards the cat. 

 

“don’t you have somewhere to be?” he asks. the cat doesn’t move, only watches. around its neck hangs a metal collar with the same crescent moon that hangs above the hut. 

 

kihyun steps around it and continues to walk. he pretends he doesn’t notice the cat following him. 

 

*

 

the market place is busy even around midday. kihyun pushes past sticky bodies and the stench of sweat, mixed with the overwhelming pungent scent of meat and fish and cheese. he fights upcoming nausea, the list of groceries tightly clutched in his hands. it’s too hot; too hot, too tight, too much. he’s suffocating in open air and the thrum of voices and movement and life is what keeps him nervous. on edge. kihyun feels like there’s a swarm of bees surrounding him and the sensation the very thought invokes makes his scalp itch. 

 

the cat is still next to him when he buys the vegetables his father asked for. it’s there when two more plastic bags with meat are added and cutting into the skin of his wrist. he wants to go back home where there’s shadow and relative, muffled silence, feels sweat stick to his nape and lower back and underarms, but there’s one more stop on his way back. 

 

in contrast to the busy market, the pharmacy in the centre is completely empty. the door is open and a whisk of ventilator air hits kihyun when he walks into the dimmed room. ‘sleeping aid,’ his father’s neat handwriting says, and kihyun’s eyes find the rack of teas first. there’s one for calming nerves and one that’s supposed to be drank before bed and kihyun takes them both. the pharmacist is an old woman with glasses perched on the tip of her nose and a cooking book lying open in front of her. she only looks up and over the rim of her glasses when kihyun clears his throat. her eyes look glassy and hazy, with age and ailment. 

 

the cat follows him on the dirty pathway home, but no dark clouds hang over his head today. _did you have an encounter again_ , his father’s voice asks him. _again_ , he said like the life and death and his suppressed memories weren’t enough to leave him covered in sweat late at night. so kihyun tells himself that nothing out of the ordinary happened and he ignores the black cat on his heels and the shadows that dance and grow and shrink in unnatural shapes right behind him. he ignores what he sees from the corner of his eye and ignores the call and beckoning of the silent and dark hut that’s standing all alone just off the main street. kihyun ignores it all and when he thinks to hear the whispered words of the shadows following and feel a cold touch on his ankle, he pulls out his phone and unlocks the screen. 

 

the rest of the way home he focuses on replying to work emails. his successor still needs information and help that only kihyun can provide; the company promised to add the extra cost of his help on his last paycheck and kihyun promised not to let them sink. he’s never been especially invested in the company, but he’s always been proud of his work, of the steep incline and quick climb up the hierarchical ladder. he’s made it far in his young years and while a petty, twisted part of him wants to see the company crash and burn without him, just to prove to himself and everyone else how much he is worth, the rational part of him wouldn’t wish it on anyone. he spent more hours locked in that office with bloodshot eyes and the tremor of over-caffeinated hands than in the neatly tidied apartment that looked exactly like the rooms photographed in furniture magazines. 

 

he remembers after his first three years, when he could finally move out of the apartment he shared with hoseok and into his own. back then kihyun believed that the high-end place in the inner city would make him happy. he came from nothing and suddenly had so much, new and sleek furniture, a large tv screen and a lady who dropped by twice a week to clean. maybe it would have gotten to his head eventually if he hadn’t been so numb by then already. 

 

maybe things would have worked out with hoseok if kihyun had been more himself, still.

 

maybe he wouldn’t be standing in the driveway of his old home and staring at his shoes, trying hard to ignore the images and voices that are haunting him in the form of shadows that somehow never leave. 

 

maybe. 

 

the cat lets out another mewl and kihyun glances back, thoughtless. the shadows are still there, clawing their way up his ankles and staring with dead, dark eyes. the cat meows again, and with a flutter of an eyelash whatever kihyun thinks he is seeing is gone.

 

“did you get the sleep aid?” his father asks when kihyun steps inside. he’s sitting on the ground in front of the old television and looking at the screen over the rim of his glasses. kihyun heads for the kitchen to put the groceries away before simply placing the plastic bag he got from the pharmacy on the coffee table behind the old man. the cat hasn’t followed him inside and when he glances out of the living room window, he can’t spot it in front of the house either. 

“kihyun-ah,” his father’s voice brings his attention back to him and he hums in question before meeting the old man’s eyes, “why did you bring me those teas?” he asks, holding the tea packages in his hand. 

 

“what do you mean? what else was i supposed to bring you?” kihyun wonders. he’s mildly confused and ready to argue about not seeing any teas that would have fit his request better when the old man sighs and throws the packages back onto the table. 

 

“i thought you would get them from hyungwon. from the hut that’s right on the main street, you ought to have walked past it, boy. didn’t you see it?” kihyun remains silent. his father is still looking at him, can probably see his jaw work and fingers clench. kihyun wonders if he thinks it’s anger instead of the sudden, cold anxiousness that grabbed him. 

 

“i saw it.” he says and turns, heads for his room. “i’ll bring you some from there tomorrow.”

 

*

 

kihyun spends some time working on his laptop while eating lunch. he stays in his room and feels partially like his father will think of him as immature, but mostly just tired. he knows what happened years ago. or rather, he thinks he knows what happened whenever he stops refusing to remember. he knows his father knows too, remembers him being there and being the first person kihyun’s hand reached for. he thinks to remember and doesn’t understand how the request for kihyun to return to the hut doesn’t strike the old man as something similar to a cruel joke. 

 

it was a crow back then that followed him, not a cat. feathers black like dripping ink and eyes like gold coins. they were young back then — kihyun feels old and jaded now. drained of his life and energy. he doesn’t enjoy the game that’s being played. he also doesn’t want any more _encounters_.

 

at almost 4pm he catches the train to the village right next to this one. his hopes of meeting the pretty woman from the train are no more, but the itch in his heels and tips of his fingers tells him to get out and move and even on a saturday, the village centre resembled a ghost town.

 

when he gets off the train half an hour later, the first street he steps into is bursting with life. there’s people gathered, laughing. it’s not the same kind of busy that he finds in the big city, but it’s better than a marketplace close to midday. he changed into another shirt and pants, more casual leather shoes. compared to everyone else he still feels overdressed. the scent of fried food fills the air; children with greasy fingers and adults with greasy lips pass him by, make kihyun’s stomach churn. he feels alone in the crowd, but doesn’t mind the unfamiliar faces that are smiling at him. they start turning fuzzy around the edges eventually, turn dark and void until what’s left is a blurry mask and the echo of a voice. a whisper. 

 

the sky is a hazy pink with soft edges of a burning fire and kihyun follows its path. something drives him. something makes him forget the weight of his phone, always tucked in his pant pocket. he hasn’t looked at the screen since he sat down to take the train and doesn’t think of it when the hot air of the late afternoon starts to engulf him. 

 

time passes in a way that it doesn’t. 

 

in that moment, his surroundings become a glass bell that’s forever caught in a second of the present that allows only minutes to tick past. all he can see is pinks and oranges and reds, a blur around him, a murmur in his ear. kihyun feels like he’s falling, transcending. there’s that pull still, a pull that pulls and pulls and _pulls_ and admits the warm bodies that push and lead him, kihyun goes pliant. he closes his eyes. 

 

( every summer for a weekend, there would be a festival in the village. it would be a small gathering of people in front of the old church, right in the centre. there would be a tiny ferris wheel, a marry-go-round and stands with food. kihyun went there every summer. every summer since he was eight he went with minhyuk. they would hide in the trees just at the festival’s edge, with scraped knees and stolen dumplings, smelling of summer and sweat and adventure. _we’re on the lookout!_ minhyuk would tell everyone who approached them and asked what they were doing. on the lookout he said and grinned and the sheer power of his confidence made kihyun’s heart palpate. they were on the lookout and minhyuk was so sure of what they would see. 

 

that first summer they didn’t wait long. kihyun remembers the crow. the hair that hung long and dark, like ink. he felt a pull back then. a pull that pulls and pulls and _pulls_. 

 

and then he caught her eye.)

 

when kihyun opens his eyes again, the sky has shifted. millions of tiny specks spilled over dark velvet, right above his head. kihyun blinks again and again and feels stardust fall off his lashes like he’s shaking off sleep. a sudden burst of energy fills his limbs, vibrates right to the marrow of his bones. he’s not being softly carried along by a mass of people anymore, he’s pushing and pushing and running, right to the centre where not a church but a large fountain waits. he doesn’t see anyone, but he can feel it, that pull. he can feel it and the dark pitch of the night does little to hide the power that surges through him in that moment. his heart palpates because kihyun is confident someone is there and while a part of him wants to see, a much larger one doesn’t. the magic that sizzles through them all suddenly turns him panicked and blind. a loud boom takes his attention and kihyun watches fireworks go off high above them, in the sky. people are cheering as the sparkling shapes turn to animals, snakes and birds and galloping horses that fly so close overhead he could reach out and burn his fingertips right off. 

 

the blurry figures around him start to swim together. they form shapes too large to be human and too foreign to be animals. kihyun sees horns and wings and claws and he’s eight again and watching his very first show with the same awestruck fear in him. only he’s alone and minhyuk isn’t there and the awe fades quickly and leaves only the thundering of his blood in his ears. the air around him is sizzling and sparkling and stifling like he’s drowning in a bottle of champagne and before his very eye everything transforms into shades of pink. 

 

the sky is a hazy pink with soft edges of a burning fire and kihyun is stuck under a glass bell. 

 

he runs and makes it as far as the train station before he’s emptying the contents of his stomach into a bin.

 

*

 

it’s nine in the evening when kihyun finally arrives back home. the sun had just set in hues of soft lavender. soothing when everything in him feels fried. shaken. there’s a tremble to his hands as he tightens his grip around his phone and steps into the house. his father is still in front of the television, but this time kihyun finds him sleeping on the ratty couch, the remote forgotten on the floor. his body moves, but his mind barely registers as he turns off the television and covers the old man with a blanket. 

 

the house is absolutely silent. the floor creaks and cracks beneath kihyun’s every step. he heads for the kitchen, right for the cabinet with soju and opens his first bottle. it burns on the way down. there’s nothing numbing about the sensation, nothing fulfilling. kihyun feels as lost as ever as he tilts his head back and chucks the bitter burning liquid. there’s no satisfaction when he lowers it again and the tremor in his hands doesn’t cease either. he wonders what he was thinking opening it in the first place and then notices the soft thudding of his heart. 

 

he sits down in the dark, in the kitchen on one of the old wooden chairs and sighs. kihyun sighs and the weight of the world on his shoulders doesn’t lessen. it hasn’t for many years. he chugs down another gulp — this one for bravery — and brings his phone to his face. the glare of the screen hurts his eyes and head, but the number he enters he does so almost blindly. even if years pass, kihyun doesn’t think he’ll forget it. 

 

he brings his phone to his ear. 

 

it rings twice before hoseok picks up.

 

“kihyun, hi— i… i didn’t expect you to call, to be honest i didn’t even think you would read my email.” he laughs, breathy.

 

“i didn’t.” kihyun’s voice cuts in comparison. rough. like the edges of shattered glass. 

 

“oh,” hoseok says and he can’t hide the disappointment in his voice. never could. “how are you? are you back in the city again? hyunwoo said you would… leave for a bit.” kihyun glances at his father’s sleeping figure and turns his back to the open living room space. 

 

“no, i’m still in the countryside. i just got here,” he says. hoseok’s voice is even softer than before when he lets out a tiny _‘i see’_ and pauses. kihyun thinks he knows what’s coming next.

 

“so… if you didn’t read my email and you’re not back, then why did you call?” hoseok asks.

 

why did he call?

 

the deafening silence of his surroundings haven’t fazed him before. before, he wanted silence. kihyun sought out that solitude. but now the shadows and the ghosts and the blurry faces whose shapes draw together and form monsters are haunting him. kihyun feels alone. he feels lonely. 

 

“we haven’t talked for months, you didn’t need to send me such a long email. i’m fine, hoseok.” 

 

“okay. sorry. i just wanted to ask if you’re okay, you know… as a friend.” their breakup was a mutual ordeal. kihyun thinks that hoseok might have been crying, but hoseok cries a lot, sad or not. he cried during every disney movie they watched and sometimes he even cried during advertisements for saving endangered tigers. he doesn’t sound like he’s close to tears now. kihyun stares at the full, yellow moon in the sky — just like a gold coin — and wonders again why he called. why did he call hoseok, why not hyunwoo? 

 

“i’m okay,” he replies, voice soft like sandpaper. “i’m sorry for calling you so late, i’m okay. please, don’t worry about me anymore, hoseok.” 

 

silence returns between them for a few more seconds, then: “i won’t,” hoseok promises. kihyun ends the call after saying goodbye. 

 

he lies awake in bed that night, not thinking of hoseok or the cat or the festival. he doesn’t think of minhyuk or his mother or his father who’s still snoring away on the couch. instead, he watches the shadows dance across his wall as the full moon rises and peaks and casts a milky glow through his window. somewhere, in the far distance, the sky still looks a hazy pink. 

**Author's Note:**

> i also now have a separate fic [twt](https://twitter.com/wonnietv) just for spoilers and updates as well as a [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/wonnietv) for questions n prompts!


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